


A Question of Authority

by Culumacilinte



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Culumacilinte/pseuds/Culumacilinte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pirate AU- Bertie has been co-captain aboard the pirate ship, the Junior Ganymede for some time, but one day he makes an error which causes the Dread Pirate Jeeves to question his loyalty</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Question of Authority

**Author's Note:**

> The concept for this AU is not mine- rather, it belongs to several people, namely Woffproff and ink_and_imp. This is my idea for a potential follow-up for what they have already written and/or drawn. Also, a massive, massive thanks to my brilliant friend and beta-reader, earlwyn, who kicked me until this story shaped up properly.
> 
> The quote Bertie refers to at the end is one by Winston Churchill: `Do not talk to me about the Naval tradition; it is nothing but rum, sodomy, and the lash.' Churchill, of course, was born long after the golden age of piracy, and that there is therefore no way Bertie could possibly quote him, but I figure Wodehouse was never exactly what you'd call a huge stickler for historical accuracy anyway. Call it artistic license.

  
I'd been aboard the _Junior Ganymede_ , the infamous ship of the Dread Pirate Jeeves, serving as co-captain for nigh on three weeks now; and I must say, all things considered, I was having a dashed good time of it. Of course, it had taken a while for the Dread Pirate Jeeves' chaps to learn to take direction from me, and certainly any words which left the Wooster mouth carried not nearly as much weight as those of the Dread Pirate. Yet all in all, as I say, fairly goodish. I'd say I was happy as a clam, but I've never understood saws like that one; I mean, who's to say that clams are jolly creatures at all? It's dashed difficult to tell when the animal has no face on it.

I must say though, this whole pirating lark was a far cry from the things one hears about it. Not that I'd ever expected to go on the account myself, but one hears all manner of tales. It is a dreadful misconception, if that's the word I want, that the crew of the _Junior Ganymede_ was a mob of bloodthirsty cretins. Though in all my years as a sea-faring cove, that seemed to be the preferred modus operandi of most pirates B. Wooster has come across, the Dread Pirate Jeeves' fellows were as strangely gentlemanly as the captain himself. All of them better-mannered than my own lads, and much quicker to hop to when given an order as well. In any event, the _Ganymede_ was run a dashed sight more strictly than the _Queen Dahlia's Revenge_ ever was, which is not precisely what a body would expect from a rabble of law-breaking pirates. I'd begun to think I could quite get used to this life.

However, as you would expect of two birds normally used to captaining their own vessels, there were a few sticky spots to be worked through. In particular, one of the problems that seemed to crop up with irritating frequency was the issue of navigation. It was on this very subj. that the Dread Pirate etc. sought out the company of this Wooster one fine, sunlit summer afternoon.

It was one of those really corking mornings when I arose and took the helm. You know that old saying- red sky at night, sailor's delight, red sky at morning, sailors take warning? Well, the sky the night before had been redder than the ripest vintage of any Trappist monk, and this morning seemed to be living up to all expectations, with a stiff breeze and a calm sea. Having since relinquished my post to the Dread Pirate Jeeves, I had retired to the captain's cabin and was currently reclining with the pins propped up on the end of the bed, enjoying a fine cup of the old h. and s. One of the really rather top hole things about being a pirate, I'd discovered, is that one gets one's tea direct from India (don't ask me how Jeeves manages it; the man is like magic), and it's a dashed sight more potent than the British variety. Never thought you'd catch me speaking against the old homestead, but that comes with being a pirate, I expect; one becomes hardened and swashbuckling, and next thing you know it's ticketty boo to king and country.

But anyway, there I was, loafing about and sucking down a nonchalant cupful of tea in complete content. So content was I that after a time, the old peepers slipped shut and I drifted off into a doze. Some time later, I was rudely awakened by the sound of my name being spoken in a manner more absolutely icy than I imagine I've ever heard before, even from my battle-axe of an aunt, Aunt Agatha, who considers me to be no more than a vile blot upon the surface of the earth.

`Captain Wooster.'

The voice that spoke was not loud or barking, nor indeed did it carry any of the traits generally associated with menace, threatening or any other synonyms which might here apply. Nevertheless, I found myself leaping out of my comfortable perch in the chair like a dolphin in the wake of a ship, though my _joie_ was considerably less _vivre'd_ than that of the metaphorical dolphin in question. I barely managed to keep a grip on my teacup.

`Jeeves!' I ejaculated, in a rather shocked and unfortunately unmanly manner.

The Dread Pirate, for his part, merely inclined his head slightly in that disconcerting way he has. `Quite, sir.' He was about to speak when quite suddenly his face did something... queer. I can hardly say quite what it was, for he didn't actually move at all, but his dial seemed to shut, somehow, like he had miniature shutters over his eyes which had closed abruptly, and the slant of his lips took on a distinctly disapproving quality. He blinked at self for a moment, resembling nothing so much as a minor prophet who'd been hit behind the ear with a stuffed eel-skin.

`What precisely is that, sir?'

Well, I was blowed if I knew what the chap meant. I shrugged. `I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate, old thing. Er, what is what?'

`Those- I hesitate to use the word, sir- those clothes.'

`Oh! Well, why the deuce didn't you say so in the first place?'

I glanced down at my threads, which I'd acquired soon after coming into my current posish aboard the Ganymede; I thought they were quite dashing, personally. Pirate togs of the finest sort, really; natty trousers with bold, red and white stripes tucked into knee-high, bucket topped boots, and a black velvet frock coat with gold trim over a fine shirt in the style that I'm informed is known as ruffled drop yoke- a bit queer, that, but the ruffled part of the name was certainly correct; the item in question had ruffles positively spilling down from the collar in an entirely delightful fashion. And topping the whole ensemble off? A magnificent tricorne hat, which perched jauntily atop the Wooster head, its feathers blowing in the sea breeze. Not that there was a breeze inside the cabin, but when I was out on deck, there was a great deal of that sort of thing, and let me tell you, the feathers whipped about a treat. I felt like I might well be a maharaja. Today was the first day I'd worn them, so I suppose it was only natural that the D.P.J be confounded by their sheer magnificence.

I looked back up at Jeeves, who was still blinking rather more rapidly than he was ordinarily wont to, looking rather nauseated. `I say, Jeeves, you're looking a bit under the weather...'

`Sir,' he managed, `I must request that you dispose of those as soon as is possible.'

My mouth dropped open. `Get rid of them?'

`They are... most inadvisable, sir.'

`Rot, Captain Jeeves!' I exclaimed, `They are quality garments, don't you know. Fitted especially for B. Wooster.'

A muscle trembled at the corner of his mouth in a fashion more disapproving than any muscle tremble should ever be permitted to be and I felt my hackles begin to rise. However, we Woosters know when it is wise to pursue an argument and when it is not, and this situation definitely fell under the latter of those two. I could be the bigger man in this situation, surely. I sucked in a calming draught of sea air, tilting my chin up at the Dread Pirate in a politely inquiring manner.

`But I daresay that can't have been what you came in here for, eh what? What is your purpose, Dread Pirate Jeeves? Bertram will be glad to help, rest assured.'

`I am glad to hear it, sir.'

Something about his manner struck me as quite rum, and I'm afraid I rather waffled at that moment, before awkwardly placing my now mostly empty teacup down on a table.

`So... how may I be of assistance?' I had aimed for a rather casual and debonair tone, but I'm afraid I didn't quite get there. Jeeves's lips twitched again, though this time in a way which I have supposed to be the equivalent of a smile in a normal man. I knew not the source of his mirth, but it was certainly at this Wooster's expense, and I could not have that.

`Tchah!' I said, with force and gusto. `You derive amusement from something, Dread Pirate Jeeves? Pray do share the joke with the rest of us, what?'

Jolly clever, I thought. Jeeves seemed to think rather less, for his phizog was as severe as that of a tortoise with a head cold.

`No, sir.' He intoned, `I merely wished to ascertain your council in the matter of the navigation of the Junior Ganymede.'

Well that was dashed well more like it, I thought. `Of course. You want my advice, is it? Ex-Navy and all that?' It seemed that the Dread Pirate was warming to me after all, and I favoured him with a rather gay smile, which melted off the Wooster dial the instant Jeeves spoke next.

`No, sir.'

`No, sir?' I echoed, looking incredulous. The Dread Pirate Jeeves inclined his head ever so slightly.

`No, sir.'

`Oh, do stop! Makes a chap feel like he's talking to a parrot, don't you know. Dashed unsettling.'

He gave a curious little cough at that, which rather put me in mind of a sheep standing on a mist-wreathed hill of Old England clearing its throat of an errant blade of grass, albeit a sheep which might decide at any moment that the thing to do would be to push a body off the top of said hill at any moment.

`Indeed, sir. But in the matter of navigation...'

His voice trailed off carefully, as if inviting me to speak, but nothing solidified out of my mind, and I instead let my mouth hang open for a few moments in a subtle sort of show of the fact that I had nothing to say. Jeeves straightened ever so slightly (looking at the bird, one wouldn't have thought it possible, but as I have learned since then, the Dread Pirate often does things which would be far beyond the reach of most mortals) and looked down his nose at me. I noticed suddenly that it was crooked; a rather surprising imperfection in the man's otherwise finely-chiselled and symmetrical face. Now, however, was not the time to be paying attention to the features of my co-captain, as something in his manner seemed decidedly soupy.

`Very well, sir; if you've nothing to say. This morning, when I took the helm, I was informed by Mr. Seppings that he had been given instructions to head straight for the Lesser Antilles. He seemed confused by this, but being the breed of man he is, had deigned not to question his orders. I was greatly puzzled to hear this, sir, for I had given no such order myself. It was a simple task to change course, but I confess that I was distracted as I went about my duties, for who else could have given such an order but yourself?'

He didn't seem to be expecting an answer here, but I popped in anyway. `Well, no-one, I suppose.'

`Precisely, sir.'

His voice was mild enough, but there was a slight lift- not more than a quarter of an inch- in the left eyebrow that indicated that there was something rotten in the state of Jeeves, as the chap had it. What this thing was though, I couldn't fathom. Navigation was one of my duties as co-c., so unless the fellow had some beef with the L.A.'s themselves, I couldn't see what the old thing was driving at.

`I'm afraid I don't see what you're driving at, old thing,' said I. `The L.A.'s are a nice enough locale; granted, the natives can be a bit rum if you get on their bad side, but all in all-'

`Captain Wooster.' He cut through my babble as easily as a sword through a half-melted jelly and took an all but imperceptible step forward. No, that's not right, is it? The D. P. J. did not step as such; he glided or shimmered or oiled around a room in the queerest manner. In any event, now loomed above me in a truly most alarming fashion, but I steeled the old backbone and met his gaze squarely, with perhaps a dash of defiance thrown in for good measure. `You have perhaps forgotten that the Lesser Antilles are a British colony?'

I blinked at the fellow, not at all understanding what he was on about. `Spit it out, Dread Pirate Jeeves!' I cried. `We are men of action, we; no use jigging about the thing until we both go blue in the mouth, eh what?'

He gave a dry little cough, looking much as my nephew-crusher Aunt A. does before she bears down on one with news of an impending engagement.

`This is a pirate ship, sir. We who crew it are therefore pirates- lawbreakers. We do well to avoid the Royal Navy whenever possible, otherwise some of the fine men who crew the Junior Ganymede may well end up decorating a quay somewhere.' The look he favoured the Wooster person with here was positively chilling. `You will understand, sir, that that is an eventuality I am anxious to avoid.'

`Er, yes, quite; and rightly so, old thing.'

Eternally polite and proper though the Dread Pirate Jeeves was, it was dashed difficult to ignore the fact that the johnnie was a pirate, and one of the most fearsome calibre to boot. You will recall that after our first battle, as I sat mouldering in the brig, Jeeves had informed me that one of my crew had dealt an ill-placed poke to one of his chaps, and that the offender must therefore walk the plank. Naturally I'd refused- the Code of the Woosters would never permit a fellow to do such a thing to a chum, and so was sentenced to w. the p. myself. Well, as it turned out, it was only a test of sorts to see what sort of a man Bertram was; the plank in question had been in a rather useless posish over the deck, and so when I jumped with a gallant cry of `God save the Queen!', forgetting in my rather riled state that the Union Jack was in fact ruled by a king, I landed nowhere else but in the arms of the D.P.J. What I'm driving at is that the plank that time had been a trick, but there was no saying that it would be the next time if I gave the chap the pip.

`Might I enquire, sir, what prompted you to issue that particular order?' Well, the truth of the matter was that I'd entirely forgotten the whole complication in re. pirate ships and outposts of old Blighty, but that didn't seem quite the thing to throw out to a chappie you're captaining ship with, so I gave a jaunty little toss of the head.

`Well, don't you know; they're conveniently situated, and, ah, the galley was running a titch low, so I thought to myself- Bertie, old bean, it'd save a dashed lot of time to just nip down to the old L.A.'s and stock up while we're in the area!' The eyebrow rose another hairsbreadth, and I found myself swallowing. `As it were. Yes. Quite.'

`Indeed, sir.'

`Oh, rather!'

`Would it be correct then, sir, to assume that you had forgotten entirely about the issue? I should hate to think that it was intentional.'

`Oh, I should bally well say so!' He really was unnervingly close now, and I felt that it was my duty at this point to make a comment. My brain kept flashing back to the final result of our duel that first day, as he'd had me pinned to the mast, the way he'd leant forward, the particular fashion in which his lips- ah, well, yes. Suffice to say I was getting a titch uncomfortable with the whole situation.

`Er, Captain Jeeves, my good chap, I daresay-'

One of my fingers rapidly navigated the scant airspace between Jeeves and myself, which was closing more and more by the second. Its passage was interrupted, though, as Jeeves' hand closed gently around my wrist not a moment later. I gave a great start, as I hadn't even seen him move. His eyes flashed darkly at me, and I felt a funny swooping sens. In the general region of my tum.

`If I may, sir; you wished to comment on the increased propinquity between our persons?'

`Propinq-what?'

Apparently, the D.P. didn't think it a question worth answering. `I wish to make something clear, sir: I am in charge upon this vessel. It is true that you have as much authority as I as far as the crew is concerned, but you are unused to captaining a pirate ship, and I shall not risk the lives of myself or my men to any patriotic proclivities on your part, whether intentional or accidental.'

The hand that wasn't bestowing its curiously vicelike grip upon my wrist reached up and, well, the only word I can give it is stroked down the line of the Wooster neck with something rummily like tenderness. The old eyelids fluttered, and I was reminded nastily of the swooning maids one sees on the covers of two penny romance novels.

`Jeeves,' I muttered, and through the continued fluttering, I could see him move even closer, feeling rather as if I had several overexcited snakes twisting about in my belly. This had nothing to do with fluttering eyelashes and everything to do with every other nerve in my body, which were currently fizzing in a manner usually reserved for after the consumption of several particularly strong w-and-s's. A hand slipped round to rest on my lower back, pulling the bod into further contact with the Dread Pirate, and he gave me a look as if he should like nothing better than to eat me alive. Or, well, something.

`What- what exactly do you think you're playing at, Dread Pirate Jeeves?' I attempted to infuse the voice with vim, vigour, and perhaps a bit of righteous indignation at being manhandled thusly, but it quite refused to cooperate. Jeeves, for his part, merely leaned forward so that his lips just barely brushed against the shell of my ear and whispered:

`Making sure you remember who is in command, sir.'

And dash it all if those words weren't accompanied by the bird's tongue, flickering against the sh. of my e. where formerly only his breath had been.

Now, being a Naval captain, one doesn't exactly have time for romantic affairs whenever one would fancy them, and being a preux chevalier, I have never lowered myself to visiting the seven-dials doxies many of my compatriots frequented. Keeping this in mind, you will understand that it'd been a deucedly long time since I'd got more than a kiss from anyone, either a beazel or a chap; and so, to feel the Dread Pirate Jeeves' tongue dancing a tango along the outside of my ear was quite enough to bring me to my knees, proverbially speaking. That bit didn't actually come until later.

As it was, the old props merely went a bit weak and wobbly, and I was forced to cling to the fabric of Jeeves' frock coat, once again in a manner which called to mind the swooning, bosomy maids of earlier mention.

Now, I shan't lie and say that such an eventuality as this had been entirely unexpected; after all, the first chance the johnnie had got, I'd been up against the mizzen with my lips engaged in an intimate acquaintance with his. However, while the thought had been simmering in the back of the Wooster coconut, I hadn't really given it any particular attention, and had I been in possession of full mental faculty at that moment, I doubtless would have been surprised.

If I wasn't surprised then, though, I certainly was when I suddenly found that the backs of my legs had rather collided with the bedframe, and that I had no choice at all but to tumble onto the mattress in a most undignified fashion. Decidedly unsuited for a Royal Navy chap. But then, I was no longer Navy at all, so it worked out.

Jeeves stayed standing, looking down at me with eyes dark and lips parted. When my eyes flicked down a touch, I couldn't help but notice that the rest of his body had rather got into the spirit of things as well; he looked quite as undone as I had ever seen him. Even during our dramatic swordfight upon our first meeting, he'd been cool as the proverbial cucumber, but now, well, I mean to say!

However, he seemed determined to keep himself calm and under control and whatsit, and so it was with the utmost calm that he slid off his frock coat and folded it neatly, placing it on the chair I'd vacated earlier. I hadn't thought it possible to fold one's clothes with dignity, but dash it all if the man didn't do precisely that. And, what was more; he maintained eye contact with self while he was doing it. After the frock followed the waistcoat, the cravat, and the shirt, all also neatly folded and stacked on the chair until the chap stood before me in naught but his breeches.

Now, Bertram Wilberforce Wooster is not the sort of man with no backbone who melts at the slightest provocation, but the sight of Reginald Jeeves (for that is the bird's name; I'd discovered the fact after about a week onboard the _Ganymed_ , and I'd thought it deuced queer; makes him sound like a valet or some such, instead of the fearsome piratey cove he is) standing shirtless and aroused before me did decidedly funny things to the general region of my abdomen.

I sucked in a fortifying breath of air.

`I say, Jeeves old thing; is this going in quite the direction it looks like?'

`It would seem so, sir.'

I opened my mouth to respond, but it was at that point that the Dread Pirate Jeeves fell on me like... well, I don't know what; like one of those bally massive cats one hears about in Deepest Africa and all that. I found myself pinned to the bed with one admirably muscled thigh on either side of my hips, and, well, one more tongue in my mouth than generally resides there.

I was shocked into stillness for a moment before responding in like kind, infusing my kiss with all the v, v, and vitality it deserved. If we Woosters are anything, after all, we are men of action. Now, you may think this a curious thing, but this seemed only to enflame the D.P.J's passions, and he made a rum little growling sound against my mouth, and his hips started to do this sort of rotating, undulating thing, creating friction in exactly the right places, and sending the old onion thudding firmly into the bedsheets. Quite without my permission, a breathy sort of moan escaped my lips.

`Jeeves...'

`Will you submit to my authority, sir?'

It hardly seemed to me that I had a choice; nor indeed- and I shall be entirely honest here- would I have taken that choice were I given one. Submitting to the authority of the Dread Pirate Jeeves seemed like a jolly good wheeze at the moment. Indeed, as long as he kept doing what he was doing, you would not see this Wooster complaining, no sir. As I said, it had been a long while for old Bertram, and the way Jeeves was kissing his way down the line of my neck drew forth a sound from the depths of my chest that I had not even known I was capable of making. Of course, it also lent itself significantly to the excitement of other areas of my bod, namely the southerly ones.

Soon, any remaining garments were shucked, and there was a great deal of moaning and panting and rubbing and things of that nature; mostly, I must admit, from me. But if you'd found yourself pinned to a mattress and mercilessly ravished by a bird as striking as old Jeeves, I don't doubt you would have done much of the same thing. In any event, things were starting to reach rather a critical stage; that marvellous, familiar feeling of tight, heavy warmth pooling low in the Wooster abd. had begun to get to that point where it feels so dashed good it's nearly unbearable, when quite suddenly, Jeeves ceased his ministrations and pulled back.

I suddenly felt a bit of a poop lying there as I was, decidedly _en dishabille_ ; it's not a state a chap likes to be examined closely when in the throes of, you understand. Not that Jeeves was much better off at this point. Despite the fact that he was puffing like a bally racehorse, he somehow managed to draw himself together and look down at me with something that would have been disdain were it not for the tousled state of his hair and the darkness of his eyes.

`In future, Captain Wooster, you will defer to me in all matters concerning the captaining of this vessel, will you not?'

`Oh, yes- I should... I should bally well say so, yes!' The words tumbled out in a rather garbled fashion, but I'm sure Jeeves got the gist of the thing.

`Very good, sir.'

A bit more in the area of gasping and stroking until Jeeves did something particularly breathtaking, and I fairly leapt off the mattress, feeling perhaps something of the salmon in the impressive arch of my back. The litany of religious entreaties which poured from the Wooster mouth at that point bore thanks to my extensive scripture studies at school as a lad, but I imagine my schoolmaster would have been more appalled than anything else to see said knowledge applied in such a way. Over the sound of Bertram's babblings, Jeeves spoke again, but I could hardly see him this time through the haze of pleasure and eyelid fluttering.

`If you would, sir; what is the name of the captain of this ship?'

It was quite at that point that all the swirling warmth and pleasure and fluttering of various body parts proved quite too much, and I cried out with an answer to his question.

`Jeeves! Oh, _Jeeves_...'

The "Indeed, sir,' I got in return was decidedly strained, and it was not long before Jeeves reached his own completion. His body, ordinarily poker-straight, seemed to relax into something like molten India rubber, and it was only with one hand on the bed that he managed to keep from collapsing on top of me. After a moment, he allowed himself to settle beside me, brushing my mussed queue away and breathing against the back of my neck:

`Very good, sir.'

I don't know if this will come of as much of a surprise to you as it did to me, but the Dread Pirate Jeeves is, of all things, one of those chaps who likes to cuddle after a bit of a romp betwixt the linens. I don't know if there's a word for that sort of thing- though if there's not, there ought to be- but that is what the fellow is. After our amorous activities had come to their conclusion, we sort of curled up together like a pair of happy peas in a dashed soft and cosy pod and lay like that for a while until he spoke.

`I trust you've learned your lesson, sir?'

His voice seemed to buzz against the top of my head as he spoke, tickling a little, and I smiled to myself. `Rather, old thing. Is all piracy quite like this?'

I bent `round to look the D.P.J in the face in a way which twisted my neck in a deucedly uncomfortable fashion and saw him gazing at me with the faintest lift of one eyebrow, perhaps not even a fourth of an inch. I don't know how he managed it, but the expression looked quite warm, possibly even affectionate.

`Might I ask that you extrapolate, sir? Is piracy quite like what, precisely?'

I shrugged. Or tried to anyway, though it didn't work so well, encompassed as I was in a pair of strong, Jeevesian arms. `Oh, you know,' said I, my voice light, `What is it that bird said- rum, sodomy, and the whatsit?'

A quirk of the lips against the back of the Wooster neck, and I gave a little, happy sort of wriggle.

`I believe the quotation you have in mind ends with: "and the lash," sir. And not all; we who call ourselves pirate have a difficult life.'

`Tish posh, pish tosh, and all other possible permutations, Jeeves! Do you think I don't know that? I've been on the sea long enough, I bally well ought to.'

`Indubitably, sir.' A cough. `And the clothes, sir?'

I cast a wistful glance over at my pirate clothes, draped unceremoniously over the back of a chair and looking magnificent, even without a body to wear them. I recalled, however, Jeeves' reaction upon seeing self clad in them, and considered for a moment the force of adamant that is the Dread Pirate's will. I shrugged.

`I suppose I haven't much of a choice, have I?'

He didn't answer, and I eyed the clothes again. `Are they really as bad as all that? Surely, I mean...?' I trailed off hopefully. Against the back of my neck, Jeeves's cough sounded particularly disapproving.

`They are worse than "all that," sir. I shudder to imagine where you might have procured them.'

As it happened, I had purchased the items in question from a tailor of some repute, but I felt that it would be fairly fruitless to point this out at this junction, so I didn't say anything about it. `Very well,' I muttered, `I'll give them the proverbial boot and get back into my Navy togs, I suppose.'

`I am pleased to hear it, sir.'

So that was the end of that. Not to say that that entirely settled things, but fortunately for the both of us, the Dread Pirate was all too ready to remind me of the way things worked aboard the ship if I got a tad bit carried away.  It's entirely possible that I may occasionally have done so on purpose, but that's neither here nor there.

Not to say, of course, that we didn't encounter any trouble after that, of either a personal or a piratical nature. Indeed, I found myself in the soup soon after this, as the crew of the _Junior Ganymede_ found themselves entangled with a shipful of rather violent Spaniards and I myself was subjected to blackmail at the hands of my former first mate, Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps. Jeeves got us all out in the end, though, as he always does, and in any event, that is a story for another time.


End file.
